


eight of swords (reversed)

by higgsbosonblues



Category: Formula E RPF
Genre: Aftercare, Choking, D/s, Facial, I can only apologise, I don’t know why I’m posting this, M/M, Piss Play, Porn with Feelings, Sensory Overload, Watersports, honestly it’s quite romantic after all the degenerate filth, it is genuinely disgusting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 12:55:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15641193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/higgsbosonblues/pseuds/higgsbosonblues
Summary: “When the Eight of Swords appears reversed it means you are escaping from once powerful self-limiting thoughts.”





	eight of swords (reversed)

**Author's Note:**

> At risk of being driven from the fandom with pitchforks and flames, here’s some unnecessarily detailed and really quite disgusting watersports porn. I wrote it last week when I was very sleep-deprived and feeling quite weird for a variety of reasons, and I just wanted to write something a little bit ugly but also quite emotionally intense. I’ve only shown it to two people (much love to them) and originally said I wasn’t going to post it on here, but uh...here I am, for reasons I cannot adequately explain. I can’t emphasise enough that this is really explicit about the fetish element and gets quite gross in places (although all consensual and enjoyed by both parties!) so please don’t read if that’s not your thing. 
> 
> I don’t usually do content warnings but this one...kinda needs it, so they’re at the end.

It’s a mark of how much he still sometimes underestimates André’s endless capacity for pushing him to his limits that, when they’re lying naked on the bed after a lazy mid-afternoon fuck and André groans and stretches and says, “You need to let go of me, I need to piss,” and Jev shakes his head and slings a leg over his thigh to pin him down, he doesn’t expect it to go any further.

“Don’t go,” he says, a little bit whiny because he’s in that kind of post-orgasmic haze where he doesn’t really care how needy he sounds. André just grunts and acquiesces at first, returning to mouthing at the dusting of freckles that have appeared on Jev’s shoulders after a few days of the blistering Mykonos sun happily enough.

He stirs again after a few minutes, wincing. “I really need to,” he says reluctantly.

“No,” Jev pats at his waist, nuzzling at his jaw, asking to be kissed. “Just do it here, all over me, it’s fine.”

He’s laughing as he says it and André snickers too, nipping lightly at his top lip before he sits up and stretches. He pauses at the point where he should be standing up, and Jev cranes his neck to appreciate the muscles in his shoulders and says, “What?”

“You into that?” André asks. There’s an expression on his face that Jev can’t quite interpret, a little twist to his mouth, and, startled, Jev realises it’s maybe embarrassment.

“Into what?” he says slowly, because he wants to make sure he’s got the right idea here before he commits to any kind of answer.

André licks over his lips, glancing out of the window, one hand dropping to fondle Jev’s thigh in a proprietary fashion, squeezing the muscle there and then smacking it lightly, making Jev gasp. “You know, that. What you just said.”

His face is a little pink around the ears and the high points of his cheeks, and the fact that he can’t say it is - Jev’s not sure he’s ever seen that happen before. Normally André takes a perverse delight in describing what he wants to do to Jev in forensic detail, whispering into the shell of his ear until Jev is hot and squirming. The idea that this is something André wants but can’t vocalise makes something spark down his spine.

“Really? I was kind of joking,” Jev says stupidly, still stalling for time, trying to sift through the colliding thought processes. Then, alarmed - “Not on the bed, though?”

André snorts at that, his expression clearing slightly. He’s still grabbing at Jev’s thigh, digging his fingers into the muscle. “Jesus, no. Just as...a general concept.”

“I don’t know, André,” Jev says, though he opens his legs a little to André’s groping. “Is that sexy?”

André shrugs. “It could be, I don’t know. We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he says, and Jev props himself up on his elbows. André glances down at him, smiles in a slightly distracted way. “I’ve never tried it. I just think it might be hot, you know. Doing that to you.”

It’s Andre’s evasiveness that makes the decision for him, an impulse Jev chooses not to examine  any further. He laces his fingers through André’s where they rest on his thigh. “OK,” he says, staring down at their hands because he can’t quite bring himself to meet Andre’s eyes. “We can try it.”

Andre’s hand tightens briefly on his thigh. “Seriously? We don’t have to.”

Jev shrugs and tugs André down to kiss him again. “I’ve enjoyed all the other perverted things you’ve done to me, haven’t I?

 

He realises after a few hours that André is _preparing_. A bottle of San Pellegrino sits on the table in front of him, and he takes regular sips from it until it’s empty, getting up to fetch another almost straight away. It makes Jev feel simultaneously hot and shivery, the idea that André is thinking it through, planning in advance. The anticipation turns to nervous energy, drives him from the sun lounger where he’s been trying to relax. He excuses himself to the pool to swim laps, tracking up and down the chlorinated water in a fast crawl until his arms are aching and his legs cramped. There’s an outdoor shower by the pool and he rinses himself under it perfunctorily, stretching out on his sun lounger again to let the fierce heat dry him off. He’s weirdly fizzy, can’t settle properly, and it makes him wonder if André has made him wait on purpose. Whether his actions are as premeditated as Jev sometimes suspects they are, calibrated to throw him off-balance in a way he loves and hates in equal measure, or whether it just comes naturally.  

It’s late afternoon but the sun is still high in the sky and enough to make his skin prickle after lying out in it for more than a few minutes; he can practically feel the extra freckles appearing on his shoulders. He gets up, hangs up his damp towel, goes back inside.

“Can we do this now?” he asks as soon as he’s within earshot, and André looks up from his phone and quirks an eyebrow. “Thinking about it is making me nervous,” he elaborates when it becomes apparent André is waiting for him to carry on speaking.

There’s a beat of silence and André locks his phone, sets it on the coffee table. “OK,” he says slowly. “Do you have your Boss slacks here? The pale blue ones?” Jev nods. “Good,” André says. “Go and put them on, and a t-shirt. Something pale, white or grey if you have it. Nothing black. I’ll be in the big bathroom, the one opposite the bedroom.”

Jev parts his lips to say something and finds something in his brain has temporarily short-circuited and he’s rendered entirely speechless. André lifts his eyebrows again in a peremptory gesture and Jev swallows, nods, retreats to the bedroom. He dresses in the pale blue slacks and, after a moment’s consideration, the blue t-shirt they’d given him too.

André has taken his top off when he gets to the bathroom, but he’s still wearing his black jeans, the denim faded to grey on the thighs. The shower is a walk-in, tiled in pale-grey slate, and André has tidied away all the detritus they’ve accumulated there over the past few days, leaving the shower floor bare apart from a few bottles in the shelf below the shower head. It’s stark as a prison cell, albeit a very luxurious one, and André has pulled down the window shade part-way to lessen the bright glare of the sun. 

The tiles are cool against his bare feet as he hovers in the doorway. André glances up at him and smiles. “C’mere,” he says gently, and Jev goes to him, letting André draw him close and kiss him. He pulls back before Jev is ready, and Jev makes an inarticulate noise of frustration.

“Don’t want to get too hard,” André explains with a crooked smile, and Jev takes a breath, feeling his cheeks warm up at the implication. André cups his jaw in one hand for a brief moment, a warmth in his expression that Jev still finds near unbearable to meet head-on, even after all this time. André grins then, slaps Jev’s cheek lightly then grabs him by the chin, holding him briefly in place. “On your knees,” he says, inclining his head to a spot in the middle of the floor. 

Jev has to breathe out before he does it, suddenly a little bit shaky, and really this is ridiculous - he’s done enough weird shit in bed with André over the past year to last him a lifetime, he can’t possibly be getting nervous over this when they’ve tried _fisting_ for god’s sake - but there’s something about the strangeness of the location, the care André had taken in choosing his outfit, the ritualised elements all coalescing to key him up, his skin erupting in goosebumps as he sinks to his knees as gracefully as he can.

André steps a little closer, standing wide-legged and slowly unbuttoning his jeans as Jev settles into position, shifting until he finds a pose that doesn’t make his knees or ankles ache too much. André pushes his jeans down so they sit low on his hips, drawing his cock out, and Jev can’t help reflexively licking over his lips. André notices, of course, smirking. “You can have it later,” he says, and Jev blinks and groans quietly.

André has gotten a little thicker since the season ended and his bulk is simultaneously reassuring and slightly threatening as he stands with his legs spread, close enough that Jev has to crane his neck to look up at him. André smiles down at him,  shifting his weight from foot to foot. “You might want to close your eyes,” he says.

“Right,” Jev says hastily, but it still takes him a moment before he can tear his eyes away from André chewing at his bottom lip, staring down at him with an expression Jev has learned to associate with both pain and pleasure.

He closes his eyes and listens to André breathing, the rustle of skin against skin and cloth, and then a shocking spatter of heat spreads across his chest and he _tries_ not to gasp, he really does, but it’s impossible not to.

“Oh, fuck,” André says, the vowel bitten off, and Jev’s eyelids flicker as he fights to keep his eyes closed, torn between wanting to see Andre’s face and keeping the anticipation. He moans when another stream of liquid hits his throat, running down his neck and soaking into his t-shirt. André is breathing hard above him, and with his eyes closed Jev’s other senses are heightened, feeling each droplet of piss run down the hollow of his throat. He smells Andre’s arousal, the tang of his sweat and something else, less ugly than he’d anticipated, a sour muskiness that makes his mouth water involuntarily.

“Jev,” André groans, and Jean-Éric doesn’t answer, licks over his parted lips, breathing shallowly through his mouth. “I’m gonna - can I do it on your face?”

Jev nods once, a barely perceptible jerk of the chin, opening his mouth a little bit wider. André curses again, and Jev jumps when he feels André’s hand on his forehead, smoothing his hair back and then tightening, holding him in place. Jev grits his teeth, screwing his eyes up, the stillness making him squirm in the same way André keeps him waiting when he uses whips and canes. It’s the spaces in between that threaten to tear down his carefully-constructed mental defences, and Jev thinks André knows it, delights in making him wait until some fundamental part of him has broken away enough to allow André to worm himself inside.

“Please, André,” he whispers, barely audible, heat spreading across his cheeks as André strokes the tender area where his jaw meets his earlobe with the edge of his thumb. It’s easier to say it with his eyes closed.

There’s a flurry of soft noise and shadows passing across his eyelids as André shuffles closer, and in the subsequent silence Jev flexes his shoulders, feels the soaking fabric of his t-shirt sticking to his skin, dragging over his nipples. He’s so focused on the feel of the wet cloth, the warm smell rising, that his concentration slips and he flinches away when André’s piss hits his cheek.

“Hey,” André murmurs, petting at his jaw, pushing his face around to face the stream. “Stay still, I can’t -“ 

Jev gasps in a breath, coughing a little, opening his mouth partly so he can breathe and partly to lap tentatively at the salty liquid that runs down his face. The taste is _weird_ rather than _bad_ , and reassured, he squeezes his eyes shut tighter against the burn and leans further in. He groans from somewhere deep in his chest, groping blindly in front of himself to clutch at André’s knees to steady himself. He parts his lips further, pushing his tongue out to rest against his lower lip, an invitation. André hisses and knocks his knuckles against Jev’s temple, pushes his thumb into Jev’s mouth hard enough that he gags lightly and then pulls it out to grip his chin, forcing his mouth open even wider.  

Jev’s throat constricts involuntarily when André starts to fill his mouth, and he chokes a little, trying to swallow and quickly realising it’s not possible with the position André is holding him in and the sheer amount of liquid. He whines high and desperate, and André curses under his breath, grip tightening on his chin. He can’t move at all, fisting his hands into the loose fabric of André’s jeans white-knuckled as he coughs and drools over André’s fingers.

“Fuck,” André hisses, fingers slipping on his wet skin. “Swallow it, come on, I want to see it,” and Jev chokes again, gulping and retching and for one horrible moment he thinks he’s going to be sick, the unfamiliarity of the taste and the simple knowledge of what he’s doing rising up inside him in a swell of horror, but then Andre’s hand leaves his chin and he drags his palm over Jev’s face and up through his hair, smearing the strands with piss and saliva.

“Hey, whoa, calm down. Take a breath,” André says. Jev obeys with a kind of dumb automation that would appall him if he stopped to think about it, but he can’t and doesn’t. He just swallows the best he can, spitting the excess down his chin. Taking in a wheezing breath that makes his chest ache, he sways forward until his forehead brushes André’s thigh, sniffling. He feels Andre’s thumb stroking lightly along the rim of his eyelid, brushing wetness from his lashes. 

“Eyes closed,” André reminds him gently, evidently deciding he’s had enough time to recover, and then pushes him back on to his haunches so he can soak his hair. Jev breathes through parted lips, licking up the wetness that runs down his face like baptismal water. Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen, but he feels light-headed and weak, leaning into André’s cupped hand where it supports his head. His t-shirt sticks to him, its entire front soaked and rapidly cooling. When he shifts his weight he can feel that the wetness has spread to his pants, dampness over his crotch and thighs and his knees cold and wet where he’s kneeling in a puddle. His own bladder aches in sympathy and the thought floats through his mind that he could just do it, an urge to debase himself for Andre’s willing gaze - he bites back a whimper and pushes the thought away, can’t quite deal with it even now.

He stirs instead, realising through his haze that the flow of André’s urine has slowed, and he manages to blink his eyes open, wincing at the sting, leaning in to lick at the tip of Andre’s cock and the light trickle of liquid still dripping from it. The motions of sucking and licking soothe him, and he nuzzles at André’s hand where it’s wrapped around his half-hard cock, points his tongue to lap at the slit, cleaning him up. André sighs above him, rubbing his thumb along the bridge of Jev’s nose in a way that makes him shiver, weirdly over-sensitised. 

“Let me suck it,” he mumbles, trying to nudge André’s hand out of the way with his nose. André laughs and groans, the grip on his cock becoming a little more definitive, jerking himself to full hardness in a gratifyingly short time, his knuckles knocking against Jev’s lips and teeth.

“Go on, then,” André mutters after a minute when he finally realises that Jev’s in no mood to wait and presumably gets frustrated with the way he’s whining and trying to lick at his fingers. Jev is too strung out, too uncoordinated to let André fuck his throat like he really wants to, contents himself with suckling at the head wetly, helping things along with his hand. André strokes his fingers through his wet hair and then pushes his thumb into the corner of Jev’s mouth alongside his cock, running his thumbnail over the sharp edges of his teeth. Gripping him by the jaw, he thrusts his hips, a small sharp movement, and Jev moans around him. He bobs his head a little, trying to collect himself enough to turn this into an actual blowjob rather than just mouthing at him. It’s hard to concentrate and all he really wants is to be directed, for André to hold him in place and use him to take his pleasure. Every time he tries to move his head he loses the rhythm in his hand, and he makes a sound of frustration, feeling André shift impatiently against him.

He drops his hand to his lap, the other still gripping André’s thigh to hold himself upright, letting Andre’s cock fall from his lips and ducking down to suck his balls instead, rolling them around his mouth and listening to Andre’s hitching breaths.

“Come here,” André murmurs, sliding his hand down his stomach to grip himself again, using his other hand to push at Jev’s forehead so he can guide his cock back into his mouth. “You’re fine, come on.”  

Jev exhales through his nose, almost a groan, letting himself go limp against André and concentrating on relaxing his jaw. André must realise that he’s going to have to do most of the work himself, because he starts stroking himself again, his hips stuttering into Jev’s mouth, bruising his lips where his fist bumps against him. Sinking into it, he curls his tongue against the heat and hardness of André in his mouth, happy enough to listen to André’s breath speeding up and the moans he bites off in the back of his throat. 

“I’m really close,” André says after a minute or so, voice tight and shaking, and Jev pulls back enough to be able to speak. 

“Do it on me,” he says, daring to look up into André’s face, and André swears softly, gazing down at him through heavy eyes. “All over me.” 

“You fucking slut,” André says, and Jev smiles, closes his eyes and opens his mouth. His face is still damp, lips sticky, and the hot splashes of Andre’s come across his face and into his mouth feel like a benediction. André steps back a little as he comes, managing to catch the neck of his already ruined t-shirt.

There’s a beat of silence, both of them breathing heavily. Jev looks up at him, licking the salty bitterness from his lips. André curses softly and sinks to his knees so he’s straddling Jev’s thighs, which is - well, it’s kind of grinding Jev’s sore knees into the tiled floor but he doesn’t mind, the bulk of Andre’s body pinning him down reassuring in the most primal way.

“You’re incredible,” André whispers, grinning as he leans in to drag his fingers through the accumulated mess on Jev’s face and push it into his mouth, smearing it across his tongue and then kissing him with an intensity that takes Jev’s breath away. His hands drop to Jev’s lap, yanking at his waistband, fighting with the zipper and shoving his hand inside while he licks his come from the curve of Jev’s chin.

He drops his head to Andre’s shoulder as André wraps his fingers around him, jerking him hard and fast and pushing his thumb through the wetness leaking from the tip. He shudders, grabbing at André’s shoulders to steady himself, almost sobbing. He opens his eyes as he feels his orgasm rushing up on him, can’t lift his head, just stares down at the visible section of Andre’s flat stomach and the shift of the muscles in his arm as his hand moves.

André puts a hand to his shoulder, pushes him back until he’s mostly upright and slides his hand up to grip him by the throat, and that’s enough for Jev to gasp and jerk his hips and come so hard he shakes with it, his ears roaring with white noise and vision blurring at the edges. André somehow has the presence of mind to angle him so that his come hits his own stomach and chest, another layer of filth on his ruined shirt. He slides backwards while Jev gets his breath back, sitting on the floor of the shower and grinning broadly. 

“You look pretty thoroughly debauched,” André says, dragging his gaze up and down his body and looking inordinately pleased with himself. He leans forward to wipe a smear of come from Jev’s cheek and presses his thumb to his mouth. Jev licks it clean tiredly, biting gently at the pad. 

“I feel it,” he admits, and Andre’s smile widens. He touches the corner of Jev’s mouth lightly with his thumb, taking one last appreciative glance at his ruined clothes.

“Come on,” he says lightly. “Much as I’d like to keep you in those clothes all night, let’s get you clean.”

Jev has been suspicious for a while that a large part of why André enjoys taking him apart so thoroughly is because he gets a kick out of caring for Jev afterwards, when he’s too tired and fucked out to bitch about it and get defensive. He allows André to undress him and switch on the shower, passively letting him shampoo his hair and wipe his face with a cloth.

“Your eyes are red,” André says disapprovingly as he rinses the soap suds from Jev’s hair. “I told you to keep them closed.”

Jev rolls his eyes, tugging the washcloth out of his other hand and using it to cover his face. All of a sudden he’s feeling overwhelmed, scratched raw and on display, and he angles his body away from André’s under the pretense of picking a shower gel from the rack. “Don’t pick at me.” 

He catches André narrowing his eyes and braces himself for more needling, but André just shrugs and stays quiet, gathering up their wet clothes from where he’s dumped them in the corner and fetching towels for them both.

“You OK?” André says softly as he wraps the towel around Jev’s shoulders, squeezing his arm gently. Jev swallows, nods. 

“I’m fine,” he mumbles. “Just tired.” 

André sighs slightly but nods. “I’m gonna start on dinner.” 

Jev lies on the bed for a long time wrapped in his towel, staring blankly at the wall while he tries to sort through his increasingly tangled mental state. He’s at a loss to explain why today should be any different to their normal sex lives, even if ‘normal’ is a relative term where André and sex are concerned. There’s no rational explanation for why his skin is suddenly crawling with anxious tension. His damp skin is cold in the light breeze from the open bedroom window, and he spends a few minutes feeling hurt that André hasn’t stuck around to cuddle him until he realises, belatedly, that he’d probably driven André out with his own attitude. 

“Shit,” he mumbles, dragging himself up to get dressed.

 

André has poured him a glass of Montrachet when he gets into the kitchen, and Jev drinks it a little quicker than is probably either necessary or appropriate, but he needs something to take the edge off. André is humming something under his breath as he griddles squid and chicory, relaxed in a way that Jev thinks is probably staged for his benefit. “You can chop the herbs if you want to make yourself useful,” he says, pointing with his tongs to a bunch of coriander. Jev shrugs one shoulder and obliges, glad to have something to concentrate on, even if the domesticity jars with his mood.

André is trying to make him feel better, he knows, keeping his glass of wine topped up and bringing him a plate piled high with fragrant food, touching his cheek lightly with the back of his hand with a tenderness that makes Jev turn his head away. He feels like he’s being a brat, but he can’t swallow properly, pushing the food around his plate until the squid ends up cold and inedible. André watches him out of the corners of his eyes, eating his own meal with a relish that seems slightly defensive.

The silence between them stretches, and Jev toys with his fork. André pushes his plate away abruptly. “Why didn’t you say?” he asks, his voice tight. 

Jev frowns. “Say what?”

“Why didn’t you tell me I was pushing you too far? You should have told me if you weren’t comfortable. Did you think I was gonna… what? Laugh? Get annoyed?”

Jev blinks and puts his fork down carefully. “You didn’t push me too far.”

André stares at his plate, stony-faced. “Then why are you acting like I did?”

Jev glances away, out of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The sun is setting, staining everything pink. He opens his mouth to reply and finds he doesn’t have the words, picks up his glass to take a swallow of his wine instead. Shame prickles at the back of his neck.

“Did you…” André sighs, scrubs his hand over his face. “Did you even enjoy it?”

Jev slides his eyes sideways, defensiveness making him sharp. “I came, didn’t I?” Then, seeing Andre’s tense expression, he relents. “Yeah, I did. That’s the issue.” 

André throws up his hands helplessly. “Jev, help me out here, because I honestly have no clue what you mean and I don’t want to say the wrong thing, OK?”

Jev squeezes the bridge of his nose, feeling his cheeks warm as he tries to marshal his thoughts. He knows he’s being unfair, expecting André to read his mind, but his throat closes up when he tries to speak. He takes a deep breath, keeping his head bowed. “I’ve just never had anything like - like this, André, OK? It’s just a lot.” 

“The sex? So it _is_ too much?” André says sharply, voice taut. He touches Jev’s hand, pulling at his wrist, trying to get him to uncover his face. “Hey. Come on, Jev. I’m no good at this shit.” 

“It’s not the sex stuff, it’s everything that goes along with it,” Jev says after a moment, trying his best for clarity. He finishes his glass of wine and immediately pours another, his hand betraying him by shaking enough that he knocks the neck of the bottle against the edge of the glass. André watches him, quiet for once. “I’ve never done anything like this with someone else. I’ve never…” he trails off, takes a mouthful of wine to fortify himself. “I’ve never _submitted_ to someone like I do to you. Fuck, André. Just saying it makes my skin crawl.” 

André is silent for a moment longer. “You know what?” he says eventually, and Jev glances over at him, bites his lip at the rueful smile twisting the corner of his mouth. “Seeing you there, on your knees, covered in -“ he breaks off, and Jev is mildly gratified to see him turn a little bit pink. He takes a deep breath before he speaks again and Jev wonders which of them is finding this more difficult. “It sounds ridiculous, but all I could think was how beautiful you looked. You looked like you belonged there.” 

Jev laughs a little in disbelief, and he knows it’s the wrong reaction from the hurt that flickers across André’s face, but he doesn’t know what else to do because it’s either laugh or burst into tears and he _really_ doesn't want to do that. “I’m sorry,” he says after a moment, reaching to to link his fingers with André’s where his hand rests on the table. “I’ve never done this. I’ve never felt like this.” 

“You fucking bastard,” André says with some heat, pushing his chair out and tightening his fingers around Jev’s, using it as leverage to pull him onto his lap. Jev wobbles a little, settling himself until he’s properly straddling André’s thighs, draping his arms over his shoulders. André kisses his jaw, the curve of his throat. “You infuriating fucking bastard, do you not get it? I love you so much it makes me sick.” 

He’s grateful that André kisses him immediately because he doesn’t trust himself to speak, dizzy and light-headed with it. He fists his hands into the hair at the crown of Andre’s head, kissing him hard enough that their teeth clash. “Fuck you, I love you too,” he whispers into his mouth, can’t stop himself from smiling when André laughs against him. André’s hands are a steadying presence at his waist. He bites at his bottom lip gently, listening to the way his breath catches, then slides down his body to kneel between his legs. André is right, he thinks as he gazes up and André grins, raises his eyebrows, spreads his legs a little wider. He belongs here.

**Author's Note:**

> cw: watersports/piss play, choking on liquid, mentions of nausea/wanting to vomit, sensory overload, established D/s dynamics, brief mentions of fisting/whipping/caning, coming on clothes, lots of spit/spitting, facial, playing with come, sub drop, top drop, swearing, a bit of humiliation/moderately sexually violent language. Feel free to tell me if I’ve missed anything.


End file.
